AN - I hope I am able to write an enjoyable fan fiction, and really would adore any input or help on this as it's not really my forte.
Summary: Two years after the fall John decides enough is enough. It is time to bring down the web that destroyed his best friend. But someone is already on that job and will do anything to stop John from getting involved. After all he didn't fake his death to save his friends only to let them get themselves killed.
The bus journey felt longer than it needed to be but he couldn't justify a taxi when he was barely making rent. And the tube was just too crowded this time of day. Dr. Watson hated the crowded sardine cans most days but it was especially today the last thing the ex-army doctor wanted to be doing was to rub shoulders with the London public.
John took a deep breath as he glanced down the road as they passed St. Barts and despite that the knot in his stomach loosened over the two years since his friend's suicide it was still there and the memory had never faded. The realisation it wasn't an act, the desperation to get to him before he hit the ground, the bike and the blood...so much blood. He shook his head and turned away.
Carelessly folding the paper he had pretended to read on the bus he shoved it into his back pocket as the bus came to a halt. Grabbing his bag he didn't bother thanking the driver as he stepped onto the pavement, there really was no point since it was obvious the man behind the wheel couldn't care less.
Before his mind could wander onto any more torturous memories John's thoughts were interrupted. "John! Hey…" Greg Lestrade had spotted him from across the street and his half-jogged across to meet his friend. "Sorry, traffic's a nightmare. I know, damn stupid to own a car in London." John smiled politely in response.
"Yeah, that's alright. Least you don't have to deal with kids and their phones."
"Careful! You're beginning to sound like an old man." Greg chuckled but his expression soon sobered as he noticed John's empty smile as they approached the cemetery's gates. "How are you doing John?"
"Better than last year. Shall we go?" He opened the gates and waited for Lestrade to take the lead as he followed in afterwards. The two men made their way up the familuar path. While John had perhaps visited more often (at least once a week, perhaps more during particular trailing days) Lestrade would occasionally visit if a case played on his mind and he needed to clear his head.
"I was up here the other week, I bumped into Mrs Hudson, she seemed well." He offered in the way of light conversation. "How's her sister?"
"The surgery went well I hear, but she'll be in the hospital a few days. Mrs Hudson's gone to stay for a couple of weeks."
"She said." He smiled and nodded. "Glad to hear it went well." This was awkward. They both felt it but it always was until they reached the grave.
They walked the rest of the way in silence both stopping in front of the cold granite slate. Wordlessly John began to pull out and unfold the two portable stools.
"Cheers." Lestrade sat down as he brought the bag he carried onto his lap and pulled out flask of hot tea and three cups. After pouring himself and John a cup he placed the third cup next to the grave. John couldn't help but laugh and shake his head slightly.
"I can almost hear him call you an idiot." John chided and he leaned forward, cupping the hot tea in his hands.
"Yes, well he never understood sentiment." He tried to sound offended but couldn't hide the bright smile on his face. This was the moment things became easier, the walk to this spot was always awkward but the moment the two sat down and poured that third cup of tea things just felt easier. As if he was really there, ignoring them as he often did but still there.
After an hour of reminiscing and filling each other in of what the other was up to John rubbed his leg as he his expression grew serious. "Greg. I can't do this any more."
"Your leg hurting you? Well it's pretty cold and we've been here an hour come on lets-"
"No, no it not the damn leg." He snapped perhaps a little sharper than he intended to. Though his limp never fully returned it was more present that it had been while he had stayed with Sherlock. He sighed as his shoulders sagged. "Sorry didn't mean to snap."
"It's fine don't worry about it." He waited for John to explain what he did mean but an awkward silence was all that followed. "John, what is it?" He asked a little more sternly now.
"I believe in Sherlock Holmes." He simply stated, avoiding eye contact with the DI.
"Wha- Oh John! Please tell me it's not you!" He groaned placing his head in his hands. "Bloody hell John I know you miss him but that God damn graffiti crap? What are you-" John quickly raised his hands I defence instantly realising that there was a misunderstanding.
"Hang on! I'm not a part of that, come on you know I'm not that stupid." He watched as relief washed over his friends face. "I do believe in him though. I just don't understand why," He took a shakey breath, "Why he did it."
"I know, me too mate." He rubbed his hands together, partly to keep them warm but mainly to give himself a distraction. This wasn't the first time this conversation had happened. "What did you mean you can't do this anymore." The worry was evident in his voice, his brow furrowed. It was no secret to Lestrade that John suffered from depression, and considering the end his housemate had met made talk like that even more worrying.
"Nothing like that. Sorry, uh I guess I'm not-" John starred at the stone in front of them. "Moriarty wasn't a lie. That blood on the roof, belonged to someone even if there was no body. I still don't understand why Sherlock tried to convince me he was a fraud. But its been two years now, I've gone over in my head a thousand times what he said to me and it still-" He coughed slightly to disguise the catch in his voice.
Lestrade kept silent, he had his own theory on why Sherlock had jumped that day but he never thought to share it with his friend in fear of upsetting him more. The consulting detective had been a genius, true, but he had been far from stable. Drugs, not eating, depression… the only thing that kept him from boredom was his damn cases and experiments. If Moriarty, the only man to equal Sherlock's intellect, had managed to convince Sherlock to doubt himself?
"Whichever way you look at it my best friend is dead and its Moriarty's fault. I can't just tell people he wasn't a fake anymore. I have to prove it! Sherlock wouldn't had quit if the roles were reversed, he'd be out there-" His arm shot out pointing no where in particular but highlighting the passion in his voice. "- bringing down that spider's criminal web."
"John, what are you saying? You can't just start investigating this, it's dangerous you could be killed!" The concern in his voice grew as he stood up and pointed to the grave. "Look what happened to him! Leave it to me and my division, I've been investigating Moriarty's crime ring for years. "
"And how far have you gotten?" A humorous laugh escaped his lips. "You can't stop me. I just wanted to let you know this is what I am doing. Next week I'm leaving Baker Street, I've already handed in my notice at the surgery last month."
"And what then? This is madness John! Do you expect to just walk up to some murderer and ask him to reveal all?"
"I know what I'm doing, Sherlock's notes were a bloody mess but the information was in there." He began to pack up his stool. "I'm asking for permission or favours I just thought you should know. I wanted to tell you here so, ah! This is stupid. But I wanted him to hear as well. To know I'm not giving up." As everything was packed away all Lestrade could do was stare at the doctor, mouth slightly agape. Finally as John turned to leave a firm hand grasped his shoulder.
"Alright mate, just be careful ok? And keep in contact, I'll help where I can." It was all he could say really, he knew there was nothing he could do to change this man's mind.
"Thanks… I appreciate that. I'll keep in touch." John walked across the graveyard, shoulders pulled back and head held high. He was glad he was doing this but he couldn't help the feeling that he was still only half of what he needed to be. He still needed Sherlock.
As John walked out of sight Lestrade turned back to the grave, his expression in turmoil as he considered what his friend had just announced. "You better keep an eye out for him too Sherlock, I have no wish to be visiting two friends in this damn place." He rubbed his eyes before the tears could well to the surface and pulled out his phone. Scrolling through his phone he found a number he had never thought he'd ever use, his finger hovered over the call button before deciding this was the right thing to do.
After only a second someone picked up on the other side. "Mycroft? I need your help… John needs your help."
Sorry I hope this wasn't too boring of a start for you all! This is my first attempt at fanfiction I just hope I can do it justice! Please let me know if there's anything I can do to improve, Id really appreciate any help :D
The next Chapter: In which John starts his quest to bring down the spider web but doesn't get very far before he is captured.